


Wield/Yield

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Community: femslash_kink, F/F, Femslash Friday, Knifeplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma holds the dagger, she holds the power. So can she truly place the blame for these desires on Nimue alone?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wield/Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Storybrooke during Season Five. Spoilers for Season Five's _Nimue_. Contains descriptions of cutting. Written for [Femslash Friday](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/femslash-friday), and for [The Femslash Kink Meme](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org), [prompt](http://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html?thread=2377157#cmt2377157) "Emma/Nimue, knife play".

“You’re not really there,” Emma murmurs. Voice not strong enough, too weak, she’s trying so hard but she’s just too weak.

“I’m _always_ with you,” Nimue reminds her. Her breath smells like roses, so overwhelming sweet and flowery; Emma’s suffocating on it. “Haven’t you realised that by now?”

Emma takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. Counting to ten, counting to one hundred, counting to an endless infinity - it doesn’t matter, she can _feel_ Nimue. Feel the gaze of once warm eyes turned cold, like a caress over her skin. Emma shivers; it’s a touch she wants to lean into, but she mustn’t.

“Why not?” Nimue asks. “Why not lean into me?” Emma has no secrecy from her, no privacy within her own mind, because that’s where Nimue lurks, that’s where she _lives_. Inside of Emma’s darkest thoughts, a poison in her head, a sickness of the soul. “I’m not a sickness, Emma - I’m your salvation.”

Emma’s jaw tenses. “I am my _own_ salvation,” she says firmly, but Nimue only laughs.

Her fingers raise goosebumps on Emma’s skin as they brush the back of Emma’s hand.

“I’m your _destiny_.” Nimue makes it sound like an oath and a threat at once, and Emma wants to curl up and hide, but there’s nowhere she’s safe. 

Worst of all, she wants to _embrace_ it. Wants to open her mind, her arms, her heart to this woman who isn’t really there.

Another laugh, low and coiling through the air. “I _told_ you, Emma, I’m always with you, I’m always there.”

Emma shakes her head, but the movement is feeble, the protest even more so. “You’re not really there.” Her fingers wrap tight around the dagger’s hilt. “ _I’m_ in control.”

Nimue’s smile is as serpent-like as her skin. “Yes, you are.” She cradles Emma’s wrist, and Emma allows it; she knows she could fight it, _should_ fight it, but she doesn’t. Nimue raises their hands, holding the dagger before their eyes. The light gleams along the blade, Emma’s name branded there for all to see. “You are the Dark One now, Emma Swan. You are in control.”

Emma is. She is the one that wields the blade, and so only _she_ can command anything of herself. But it is Nimue who urges the dagger closer, who turns the blade towards Emma’s neck.

“I thought I wasn’t really there?” Nimue teases. “How could this be my doing?”

The dagger’s curved edge presses to Emma’s throat, the metal cool against her skin.

“ _You_ are in control, Emma,” Nimue promises. “Show me what you want.”

The blade cuts her, shallow and short, and Emma _gasps_. She feels her skin split, feels the deep red droplets gathering along the dagger’s edge. Her knees are weak; Nimue steps closer, her hand still holding Emma’s wrist.

There isn’t much blood, but the scent of it mixes so beautifully with the perfume of roses. 

“ _Show_ me,” Nimue urges, her gaze raking over Emma’s face. 

Emma swallows. The blade cuts her a little deeper. Nimue’s smile makes her _throb_ , heat building between her legs.

“I’m in control,” Emma breathes, the words shaking. She moves the blade away only a barest distance; together, she and Nimue bring it back to her throat, to another pale stretch of skin. Another cut, this one making her _moan_.

The blade feels like it’s buzzing in her hand for every new drop of blood.

Nimue isn’t really there. “Kiss me,” Emma demands, and it’s the surest her voice has sounded all evening.

Nimue’s lips are cool and dry, the scales upon them smooth as they brush Emma’s mouth. But her tongue is hot, the inside of her mouth hotter. Her free hand cups the back of Emma’s neck, her thigh sliding up between Emma’s legs.

“You are the loveliest creature I have ever seen, Emma Swan,” Nimue sighs. Her fingernails dig into Emma’s neck; the dagger cuts her again. “A Dark One who tries to cling to the light.” Her thigh pushes higher, and Emma grinds down against it, head tipping back, baring more of her throat to the blade.

The pain of it ignites a fire inside of her; she’s _burning_ and she doesn’t want to stop.

Emma’s eyelashes flutter. She’s been so cold since they returned to Storybrooke, so alone. 

“I am always with you,” Nimue whispers against her lips. “You are never alone.”

Nimue isn’t really there, yet she feels real in Emma’s arms, the most real thing in her life. Emma kisses her again; the blade cuts at both of their necks, and Emma can taste roses and the _dark_.


End file.
